


My World Crumbles Without You

by yikescaninot



Series: We Could Be Heroes [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Science Fiction, tumblr prompt request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 14:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18573700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikescaninot/pseuds/yikescaninot
Summary: “I still think about that night, you know?” Hinata said quietly, breaking the companionable silence.The food in Bokuto’s mouth turned sour, sitting heavy in his stomach. He choked back the mouthful he had then turned his attention up to the night sky. After a long moment he sighed. “Yeah, me too.” He looked at the half-eaten sandwich in his hands then balled it all up tightly and leaned back, tossing it into a nearby garbage can. “I, uh, I’m sorry I stopped thinking. If I hadn’t—If I’d kept my head you might have…” He trailed off, gesturing to the right side of his face then to Hinata, not making eye contact.A soft beep through their earpieces stopped the conversation before it could continue.“Villains converging towards the Main Street subway station. Any heroes available in the area requested.”“They’re singing our song.” Bokuto smiled, grateful for the interruption then stood up, wiping his hands on his suit. Kenma could yell at him later if there were crumbs in the fibres.Prompt Request: BokuAka / Heroes & Villains / "I miss(ed) you."





	My World Crumbles Without You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [volleydorkscentral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/volleydorkscentral/gifts).



> I'm just going to tell you right off the hop that I was told to break @volleydorkscentral's heart with this.  
> I've never written a fic where my _goal_ was to focus on angst, but if you've read other fics of mine you know I can't leave it on a sour note. I need some glimmer of hope.  
> So please—enjoy!
> 
> Now with a wonderful [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLT77OC0XBrGsmffZOULIxFV4V_nvshRBU) made by [MangaManiac!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MangaManiac/pseuds/MangaManiac)

“Hey, hey, Keiji, look! It’s us!”

Akaashi untucked his face from the crook of Bokuto’s shoulder when he felt them descending. He looked around as he was set back on his feet, Bokuto ever mindful of his sore leg. They stood on the edge of a rooftop, the night air cool around them. Across the street atop another roof was a billboard, several stories tall and boasting a picture of a handful of local heroes.True to Bokuto’s word, their likenesses were looking out at them, larger than life and looking far more impressive than they currently felt post-battle.

It never failed to impress him how different they looked in their suits when he knew each and every one of them on their days off—casual and lounging, and more than likely elbow-deep in a bag of chips. The first on the board was Iwaizumi, just as likely to be found at the gym as he was in his depicted form: a scaly-looking charcoal grey suit that fused seamlessly with the rocky spines that extended from his forearms and down his back. His super-strength and stone-shifting abilities made him a popular brawler-type hero. The Tanaka siblings with their matching sharp smirks stood next to him and filled out half of the back row. They were probably the least flashy of their district’s heroes with plain black suits accented with white but Saeko always said that suited them just fine. According to her, their opposing powers (her fire and weaponized percussive voice, and Ryuu’s ice and enhanced hearing) were flashy enough that they didn’t need bells and whistles. Hinata’s suit was as excitable as his personality, and with him front and centre, the viewer’s eye was drawn to the red and orange suit looking like the very flames and light he commanded. Akaashi and Bokuto completed the lineup of heroes, the tallest in the row and probably the next flashy in appearance even though their suits were predominantly black with small gold and white accents. Unlike everyone else’s masks that only covered from cheekbone to eyebrow, Bokuto’s was closer to a cowl mask, merging with the neck of his suit and covering up over his ears and forehead, only open over his mouth, cheeks, and the top of his head to let his signature hairstyle ‘blow in the wind,’ as he claimed. Akaashi’s mask was more simple, leaning closer to the common eye mask, though the neck of his suit came up higher, ending just short of his jaw.

He took in the sight of them standing next to their colleagues before focusing back on just the two of them. Bokuto’s eyes were shining through his mask with barely contained mirth, and if Akaashi was recalling that particular shoot correctly, it was because the taller man had a handful of Akaashi’s ass.

“This is a new one,” Akaashi mused, more to himself than anything.

Bokuto’s arms tucked around his waist from behind, holding him close even as he dropped his head a bit to press their cheeks together gently. “Yeah. I don’t think it was up the last time we came this way. It was a picture of Sawamura, I think. Or was it Oikawa?” He hummed in thought, no doubt trying to picture the board from as recently as a couple of days ago, holding Akaashi like he was precious.

Bokuto never failed to make Akaashi believe that he was.

They stood on the roof for several more minutes, Bokuto caught up admiring the team of superheroes on the billboard with an open look of pride. Akaashi didn’t mind. Bokuto’s warmth chased away the chill in the air. It wasn’t until he shifted his weight to his other foot and let out a small noise of discomfort that they both snapped out of their thoughts.

“Oh shit. I’m sorry, Keiji.” Bokuto carefully lifted him back up and kicked off into the air once more.

Akaashi wasn’t sure he would ever get used to flying, but as long as Bokuto was the one holding him, he figured it would be fine. He tucked his head back in against Bokuto’s neck, hating the way his eyes water if he wasn’t wearing his mask—and he wasn’t. It had been damaged in the fight they had just ended, its remains stuck in his pocket. Kenma would probably lose his mind over it, in the most typical Kenma ways—disgruntled and twisted facial expressions, and mumbling under his breath as he worked on repairing it—but that was a problem for the next day. His suit had a backup if anything came up before he could get Kenma to repair it, and worse comes to worst he could just employ his matter-manipulation abilities to keep things out of his eyes.

The city lights blurred together beneath them when he peeked to see how far from home they were. It wasn’t often they had to move out of their zone, but that night they were covering for another hero team. Despite the attack that had caught them by surprise at the tail-end of their shift, it had been a routine, almost quiet, night. Judging by the buildings they flew over they would be home soon.

Akaashi felt Bokuto press a kiss to his head.

“Sorry you got hurt, Keiji.” Bokuto’s voice was just loud enough to be heard over the wind and it was full of regret. “I should have been paying more attention. I could have stopped that beam.”

“You couldn’t have. You were too far away with a villain of your own. It doesn’t hurt much, so don’t worry about it.”

“Still…”

“You can make it up to me later, hmm?” He lifted his head enough to press a kiss to Bokuto’s jaw, feeling his partner smile. Bokuto could have been clear across the country and still find a way to consider himself at fault. Not that he was much different.

Somewhere below them, there was a soft chiming that sounded vaguely like birds, counting out the fourth hour of the new day. As soon as the thought entered Akaashi’s mind that they were very close to home, Bokuto was already descending onto the small terrace outside their top-floor loft apartment. Green flickering lights converged from multiple corners of the terrace, scanning their forms as Bokuto walked across the tiles towards the door, keeping Akaashi in his arms. A soft beeping announced passing clearance and the terrace doors swung open.

“I _am_ able to walk, you know.”

“Maybe you can. Maybe I just want to hold you a bit longer,” Bokuto said with a grin, winking down at him before walking into their apartment, the terrace doors closing silently behind them again.

Akaashi huffed out a small laugh.

As Bokuto set him down on the couch, Akaashi reached up, his fingers finding the cool, metal-like crest that sat below the dip of his collarbone. He could feel the shallow engraving—an owl in flight, the perfect puzzle piece to fit with its opposite on Bokuto’s suit, two halves of a whole. He twisted the disk and pushed it into itself, a chill brushing up against him as his supersuit separated and retracted, disappearing into the pendant that was now hanging against his sternum from a thin chain. It wasn’t cold in their apartment by any means, but the lack of compressive and insulated suit over his shorts was … well, he wouldn’t mind a hot bath just then.

He could feel Bokuto’s gaze on his leg and he steeled himself before looking down to see how bad it was. They had been fighting near a construction site. One of the villains had some sort of telekinetic abilities, though it might have also been something to do with the ground, or maybe even metalbending—Akaashi would put more thought into his analysis when he completed his report. While he was concentrating on making sure there was no collateral damage on the nearby residences, a beam was thrown from the skeleton of a future high-rise, knocking him down from his position on top of a crane. The suit had dispersed most of the impact shock, but there was still heavy bruising down his thigh and onto his shin. He wouldn’t be surprised if it had done some damage to his knee. Nothing _felt_ broken, but with the way Bokuto was looking at it, it might as well have been mid-amputation.

Bokuto’s mask was pushed back, hanging from the back of his neck, and he was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. His hands hovered over the worst of the bruising, looking hesitant to touch. “How’s it feel, Keiji? Should I call Saru? Maybe Suga?”

“Koutarou,” Akaashi said softly, directing those golden eyes from his leg up to his own. “It’ll be fine. Kenma would have called if the suit registered significant damage. All I need is a hot bath, a couple of pain relievers, and maybe a tensor bandage, at most, right now. We can call Sarukui or Sugawara tomorrow if there’s anything particularly distressing about my knee. Okay?” When it looked like Bokuto was going to argue, he reached over to cradle his partner’s face in his hands and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Bokuto relaxed minutely but still looked hesitant. “I’ll go start the bath and see if we have any leftovers in the fridge. I know you probably want to get started on the report…”

For all that was said of Bokuto’s shortcomings by those in their line of work, Akaashi would always disagree. Despite his occasional mood swing and penchant for excitability, Bokuto was nothing short of a hero—both in and out of the suit. He paid attention to details others overlooked; was aware of things about himself and others that often led to growth between teammates. When Akaashi needed him most, he was there. A steady presence in their tumultuous life. To hell with those that thought Akaashi merely _put up_ with Bokuto.

Before Bokuto could draw away to do what he had said, Akaashi drew him closer, catching him in a kiss so sweet it had Bokuto melting into his touch. “Thank you,” he said, punctuating it with another soft kiss. “You’re too good to me.”

“I think you’ve got it backwards, Keiji.” Another kiss. “You’re always takin’ care of me.” Bokuto leaned forward, chasing after Akaashi to sear a new kiss into memory, a hand moving to wrap around the back of Akaashi’s neck. Any chill there might have been in the air was chased away by the warmth between them as Bokuto licked into his mouth, drawing him closer.

When they finally separated, Bokuto rested his forehead against Akaashi’s. The strain and fatigue from the night’s patrol were starting to set heavy in their bones. Bokuto reached his free hand up, twisting the crest on his chest. After his suit retracted, he pressed a quick kiss to Akaashi’s forehead then stood, attempting to roll the aches out of his shoulders. “Food, bath, bed? Or bath, food, bed?”

Akaashi hummed in thought as he pulled out his tablet from the coffee table drawer to start working on his report. After a moment he simply nodded and said, “Yes.”

With a cheeky grin, Bokuto disappeared into the kitchen. The sound of him humming was left in his wake, bringing a soft smile to Akaashi’s face.

He listened to Bokuto rummage around as he started typing out his report—an in-depth analysis of everything they came across on patrol. As the villains at the construction site were new to him, he slipped out the stylus pen and did a quick sketch of their costumes as well, making a note to double-check for accuracy with Bokuto on the one he had fought. Early on in their crime-fighting careers, Akaashi realized that this was his way of decompressing. Some heroes did yoga. Some meditated. Some went to the gym for extended hours to work out the images that stained to their eyelids. Akaashi preferred critically tearing fights and villains apart in his notes, breaking them down from the Big Bads of their patrols into manageable traits and actions. It allowed him to let go.

He looked up when Bokuto brought a plate with a couple rolls of onigiri to him, setting a hand on the other’s hip with a light squeeze in silent thanks before continuing to work on the report, half of the first onigiri already in his mouth. Somewhere at the edge of his attention, he could hear Bokuto cleaning up whatever mess he had made in the kitchen, then disappearing down the hall to the bathroom.

When the apartment fell silent, he pressed his fingertips to his eyes, holding back a yawn. Checking the time on the tablet screen, he frowned to see that it had been over an hour since he started on the report. He did a final scan through it, making sure nothing had been left out (there hadn’t) and sent the file to the printer on the other side of the room.

“Koutarou?” He set the tablet aside, pushing himself to stand up with a stiff grimace. Perhaps tomorrow, he thought, he should try out some of the yoga stretches that Sugawara was always recommending. When no answer came, his hands paused over the printed pages, and he leaned around the corner to look down the hall. “Did you fall asleep without me?”

“That was one time, Keiji!”

He smiled to himself, practically hearing the pout from the main room. With the corner of the report stapled, he went to a tall bookcase that housed identical unassuming black binders—four full shelves, the fifth half to completion. Sliding out the last binder on the bottom shelf, he found himself taking a moment to go through the pages.

He wasn’t sure when he had decided to make it part of his post-patrol routine, but sometime very early on in their careers Akaashi had started compiling everything into these scrapbooks—every news clipping mentioning them or something they were a part of, every fan letter and drawing. He sometimes even included medical and police reports if the event had been severe enough to warrant them. The bookcase contained their lives as superheroes—their lives _together_ —and Akaashi had taken it upon himself to chronicle everything in neat rows and headings because to him, everything was important.

When he flipped through to the next blank page he felt Bokuto’s arms move around his waist, and he leaned back into the steady embrace. Beside the bookshelf was a waist-high cabinet—his ‘craft table’ as their friends liked to tease—and from a drawer, he pulled a transparent envelope. Glueing the back of it, he adhered it to one page and slipped the report inside.

“Did you see the stickers I added to the last ones?” Bokuto propped his chin on Akaashi’s shoulder, looking down at the scrapbook.

Akaashi hummed, flipping back a page then snorted in amusement seeing the colourful owl stickers carefully placed between the news clipping and a child’s drawing of ‘Mr Owl-man’—something that Bokuto always preened to, even if it had only been suggested as a hero name as a passing joke on their first case.

“I particularly like this one,” Akaashi mused, pointing to a great horned owl that was drinking a cup of coffee beside Akaashi’s sketch for that case. It was the likeness of a villain they had fought that had the ability to put people to sleep—aptly named Sandman. Quite original. Akaashi often wondered if all villains watched the same three cartoons growing up.

He could feel the vibrations in Bokuto’s chest against his back as the other man chuckled.

“I thought you’d like that one. Come on, I drew you a bath. How’s your leg feeling?”

“Like I had a steel beam thrown at me rather forcefully from a distance.”

“Keiji,” Bokuto huffed.

“It’s all right, Kou. Achey, but I could remind you of several times from this book alone when it was worse.” Akaashi gestured to the scrapbook in front of him before he closed it and leaned down to put it back on the bottom shelf, an act made difficult by the fact that Bokuto refused to let go of his waist. “Kenma’s suits have gotten a lot better at reducing injury since the beginning.”

“I still miss our original suits.”

“You only miss them because you took _every_ opportunity to wear tear-away clothes over top. Even,” he pressed, turning to face Bokuto, “when the newspapers claimed that you were a...a male entertainer impersonating a superhero. Maybe even _because_ of it.”

Bokuto grinned, raising his eyebrows. “I’ll have you know, I would make a fantastic stripper. A _fantastic_ one.” His eyes lowered to the medallion hanging around Akaashi’s neck, and he pressed his thumb to it gently, wiping across their emblem. “These are nice, though. Feels like we’re really making a difference when we’re wearing _official_ suits, y’know?”

“I know.” When Akaashi caught Bokuto’s eyes drifting towards the top of the bookcase almost wistfully, he quirked a brow in amusement. “It’s okay to say you miss the cape.”

“I _really_ miss the cape.”

Akaashi laughed, sliding his hand down to take Bokuto’s before leading him back down the hall towards the bathroom. He could feel the warmth from the bath before he even opened the door, and he took in the sight of their large tub fitted with a tray across the width, plates of food and glasses of their Suga-mandated, nutrient-rich shakes atop it.

“You were right. Bath-food and food-bath both sounded good,” Bokuto said simply, kissing Akaashi’s shoulder as he let go of his hand to drag his thumbs under the waistband of Akaashi’s shorts, pushing them down.

Bokuto’s kisses trailed up his neck to the sensitive spot behind his ear, and a shiver ran down his spine, causing him to press back into Bokuto’s embrace.

“I thought we were going to have bath-food-food-bath,” Akaashi breathed out, closing his eyes as Bokuto’s hands left hot trails across his sides and down past his hips, nearing—  

“Mm,” Bokuto hummed thoughtfully against his neck, hands slowing. He pressed one last kiss to Akaashi’s neck gently before lifting his head. “You’re right. I should let you eat first.”

Akaashi looked back to him with a slight frown, but chuckled faintly at the grin on Bokuto’s face. Shaking his head, he carefully got into the tub, leaving room behind himself for Bokuto to get in as well. When he did, Akaashi leaned back into his chest again and picked up one of the shakes. He brought it to his nose, then made a face.

Bokuto’s laugh rumbled against his back as the other reached for his own glass. “Yeah, they smell pretty awful. Suga told me we _have_ to drink them, though. Something about us not getting enough of something or another because of our weird hours. Or something.” He shrugged and took a sip. “Not the worst thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

Akaashi took a tentative sip then turned his head away quickly, fighting to keep it down. “Oh, what the fuck, Kou?” He eyed the glass and let out a shaky breath. He glanced back to Bokuto before he plugged his nose and downed the contents of the glass. The second it was empty, he put it back on the tray and grabbed a dumpling, making quick work of it.

“My hero,” Bokuto said in a dramatic, hushed tone of awe.

“Your turn then.” Akaashi motioned for him to tip the glass back, urging him on.

Bokuto grinned, burying his face against Akaashi’s neck. “How absolutely villainous of you, Keiji.”

He snorted and shook his head. Scanning the tray in front of them, he started picking at the food, feeling less hungry after the shake but still knowing he should eat something. When had been the last time they had eaten? Was it before their patrol? Akaashi frowned to himself before picking up one of the pieces of reheated meat and holding it over his shoulder for Bokuto. He smiled faintly when he felt Bokuto take it between sips of his shake.

Once they had cleared the tray and emptied their glasses, Akaashi slid it down onto the floor and out of their way. He settled back in Bokuto’s arms, closing his eyes contently.

“Can we just stay in here forever?” He asked through a yawn.

“We could, but then we’d get cold and wrinkly pretty fast.”

“Since when are you the realistic one?”

“Since you decided to live in a bathtub until you’re old and grey.”

He could feel Bokuto’s head resting against his and could almost picture the smile he had on. When Akaashi didn’t answer right away, Bokuto kissed his cheek then shuffled him forward a little bit to get out. He made a noise of disapproval, trying to hold onto Bokuto’s hand before it pulled away completely, opening an eye to glower when he heard a chuckle from above him.

“Let’s get you to bed. I’ll clean this up in the morning,” Bokuto said as he reached into the tub, sliding his arms under and around Akaashi in order to lift him again, taking care to not have his hand directly on any part of the bruising, and set him on the edge of the tub.

“Mhmm,” Akaashi mumbled, reaching up to dry his hair when Bokuto dumped a towel over his head.

“Hey,” Bokuto said in a hushed tone, picking up the edge of the towel to see Akaashi’s tired expression. With a smile, he kissed the tip of Akaashi’s nose then dropped the towel back into place like a now-damp veil. “Don’t fall asleep on me before we get to bed.”

“That was one time, Kou.”

“ _And_ I had to carry you to bed.”

Akaashi blinked, then laughed, tossing the towel towards the hamper. He didn’t bother to see if it went in. “You say that as if you wouldn’t be thrilled by the chance to carry me around everywhere.”

“You’re right. If your feet never touch the ground again, I’d be a happy man.” Bokuto grinned then picked Akaashi back up without flourish, keeping him tucked close to his chest.

“You know that usually has a different connotation, right?”

“I said what I said.”

Akaashi’s laughter filled the walls of their home as Bokuto took them to their bedroom, not bothering to turn any lights on as, for him, it might as well have been daylight. Behind them, the bathroom light turned off with a short gesture from Akaashi.

While both heroes were tucked into bed—with hushed promises of ‘ _I love you_ ’s, trading laughter for soft, lingering kisses punctuated with pleasured sighs that eventually faded into silence—the city proper began to wake up.

* * *

 

Bokuto didn’t want to open his eyes. He was in bed (one of his favourite places) with Akaashi (his favourite person) tucked close against his side, the comforting weight of Akaashi’s head on his shoulder and arm over his waist. The earth could open at his feet, threatening to swallow him whole, and he would be no less content than he was in that moment as long as that was how he went out—arms full of Akaashi.

_You’re too comfy for thoughts like that,_ he chided himself, sinking back into the blankets and pillows comfortably. He held Akaashi a bit closer, smiling to himself when he felt his partner nuzzle in closer.

Beside him on the side table, his phone notification sounded. Careful not to jostle Akaashi too much, he reached over to check the text. He absently dragged his fingers in nonsensical patterns down Akaashi’s back, glancing down when, after a while, he felt them being mirrored on his own torso. When he looked down, Akaashi’s expression was pensive, watching his fingertips as he traced over some of the worst of the scars on Bokuto’s chest and side.

He let the phone drop to the mattress and instead caught Akaashi’s hand in his own, his thumb rubbing comforting circles. “What’s on your mind?”

“How long are we going to keep doing this, Kou?”

“Keiji?”

Akaashi sighed, setting his head back down on Bokuto’s shoulder, hiding his expression. “How long are we going to keep giving our lives for people who could just as easily be saved by the next hero? There’ll always be someone else to take our place.”

Bokuto was silent for a moment, feeling the way Akaashi held onto his hand and the comforting weight of Akaashi laying against him. His eyes trailed down to where Akaashi’s injured leg was propped up on his own, blooming deeper purples and reds further than the night before. He chewed on his lip slightly, arm tightening around Akaashi’s waist.

“You’re right,” he finally said. Then again softer: “You’re right. There’s always going to be another hero to fight in our stead, but if I can keep Hinata from having to fight that one extra villain, then I will. If I can keep one more kid safe, then I will. But if you want to start considering retirement, then I’ll do that as well.”

“You make it sound like I’m guilting you into this.” Akaashi frowned, pushing himself to sit up, swinging his legs over the other side of the bed.

“Not at all. We’re partners, Keiji. I’m not doing this without you, and if you say that we should talk about retirement then I think we should do that.”

Akaashi looked over his shoulder at Bokuto, his brow furrowed. “I know you love being a hero.”

Bokuto reached over, carefully pulling Akaashi back into his arms, giving him opportunity to pull away. “I do love being a hero,” he agreed when Akaashi settled back in against his chest before smiling easily. “But I love you more. We can talk about it later, I promise.”

He watched the tension ease out of Akaashi’s expression, a flicker of relief lighting his normally steeled eyes. When Akaashi nodded and made to settle in for good, he pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“We brought lunch!”

Bokuto could feel the moment Akaashi’s comfortable recline turned into an exasperated slump, and he hid a smile against his dark hair before lifting his head. “We’ll be out in a minute! Make yourselves at home.”

“Already have. Make yourselves decent, there are children here.”

“You must be talking about yourself, Kuroo,” Akaashi grumbled out, causing Bokuto’s smile to widen further.

He got up, grabbing the bottle of pain relievers from the shelf and handed it to Akaashi before the other could ask, then worked on finding clean clothes for them to wear. He made a mental note to do laundry after their guests left, though they couldn’t _really_ be called guests anymore so maybe they wouldn’t be too concerned about him throwing in a load right away? Probably not. He shrugged to himself and pulled on the joggers and tee before going to Akaashi.

“How’s your leg this morning?” he asked, even as he crouched down to help Akaashi step into his shorts.

“Sore. Manageable,” Akaashi sighed, setting a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder to help himself stand up. He smiled lightly when Bokuto pressed a kiss to his hip then pulled the shorts up into place. He took the shirt that Bokuto had tossed onto the bed and pulled it on before sighing. “How bad do you think we can make him feel for getting us out of bed early on our day off?”

Laughing, Bokuto shook his head. “Won’t take much, I’m sure, considering his extra day off only happened because we covered for him last night.”

Akaashi hummed in response before taking Bokuto’s hand and heading out of their room. Bokuto could tell he tried not to let himself limp too badly, but when they stepped out into the open living room they were met with Kuroo’s signature smirk.

“Have a good night, you two?” Kuroo teased, helping Sawamura set out containers of take-out. Kenma sat in his usual armchair, tinkering with some device the size of a phone. Bokuto would have assumed Kenma was almost outright ignoring the other two if it weren’t for the occasional flicker of his eyes towards them to say otherwise.

“Exceptionally.” Akaashi squeezed Bokuto’s hand before going to join Kenma, the path he took conveniently displaying the bruising on his leg.

Guilt furrowed Kuroo’s brow, watching Akaashi settle onto the arm of the chair to see what Kenma was doing. “Do you want to eat in there, Akaashi?”

“That won’t be necessary, Kuroo. I can walk fine.”

“Surprisingly. I got an alert from your suit, you know,” Kenma scolded quietly, barely glancing up from his project. He looked back down, turning off his soldering pen before reattaching the other half of the casing. When he saw whatever it was he needed to on the screen, he held his hand out to Akaashi.

“Keiji—” Bokuto started with a frown, only stopping when Akaashi held up a hand.

“I’m fine.” He levelled a look at the four of them, as if daring them to challenge that before he lifted the crest pendant from his neck and dropped it onto Kenma’s waiting palm.

“Kuro, bring me a plate. I’m going to work on this.” Kenma waved a hand dismissively at Akaashi before setting the crest on the device he had been tinkering with, a faint blue glow raising from one end like a holographic screen. He scowled, nose scrunching and brows drawing together, at whatever he was seeing.

“Nobody else was free today?” Akaashi glanced between Kuroo, who was making up a small plate, and Sawamura as he sat in the chair beside Bokuto, gratefully taking the coffee when his partner slid a ceramic mug to him.

For the past several years, their group of friends tried to meet up whenever their days off matched up. Usually it was only once a month, and it had only happened once where everybody had attended, but Bokuto had to agree—he was surprised to see just the three at his table. He would have assumed even one of their friends in support or medical would have joined. Ennoshita or Sarukui, maybe. Even Yahaba had made an appearance more often than not lately.

Sawamura shook his head. “Everybody’s been waiting at their stations the past week or so. Tendou thinks something’s coming.” He frowned at his meal, as if that would offer any further explanation. “Even medical has been preparing.”

“It’s nothing we can’t handle,” Kuroo bolstered, glancing between the three of them as he sat back down. “We’re good at what we do, and we have the numbers for anything.”

“What hit you, Keiji?” Kenma asked from the living room, voice carrying although it was never raised.

“Wide-flange steel beam from a high-rise construction site. I believe the villain had some sort of organic manipulation abilities to be able to throw it as he did.” Akaashi leaned back in his chair, setting his chopsticks down.

“Similar to yours?”

“Can’t say for certain. Purely speculative.”

“That’s unlike you, Keiji.”

“So is you not having medical waiting on my couch when I got home.”

“I was monitoring.”

Akaashi merely hummed, returning to his meal. Bokuto glanced over to him, searching his face. Akaashi still looked tired, and he was holding his leg in front of him stiffly, like it was bothersome to bend to a more comfortable angle. Bokuto knew he had gotten up when he’d thought Bokuto had been asleep, several hours after they’d retired to bed, in order to take another couple of the pain relievers. He didn’t want to push, so he merely reached over and set a hand on Akaashi’s thigh, not bothering to hide his smile when Akaashi’s unoccupied hand settled to hold it.

Sawamura looked up from his food, glancing between Bokuto and Akaashi, and in the direction of the Kenma’s armchair, before leaning back in his chair. “I was speaking with Saeko the other day,” he said after a moment. “She and Ryuu think Hinata will be clear to sign off by the end of the month.”

Bokuto swung his head around, eyes wide with excitement. “Really?” He could feel Akaashi sitting up straighter at the news as well. “My little protege is finally growing up!” He couldn’t stop his chest from puffing up with pride, squeezing Akaashi’s hand gently.

“He can’t _really_ be your protege when you’re not the one currently overseeing his training,” Kuroo reminded him, obviously holding back his laughter.

“Nope. He’s my protege.” Bokuto jabbed a thumb into the centre of his chest. “Even if I’m not training him directly any more.” He turned in his seat to look at Akaashi, whose eyes followed the movement with amusement. “Hey, Keiji, we should see if he wants to come on patrol with us when he’s signed off! What do ya say?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Bokuto grinned and finished eating, occasionally adding something onto Akaashi’s plate when he thought the other wasn’t looking. When Akaashi grabbed his wrist to stop him with a look of exasperation (albeit fond), he smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

“You’ll get caught up doing something and forget to eat later, I know it,” he explained simply enough.

Kenma walked into the dining room, the device he had been working on shoved into the large pocket on his sweater. Kuroo had said the sweater was designed to carry cats or other small pets around hands-free, but Kenma often made use of shoving electronics or snacks into the pouch, saying that even if he wanted to get a cat (which he did) the fur would just make a mess of his workspaces. He set Akaashi’s pendant down on the table with a pointed look at the hero.

“I did what I could with what I have on me right now, but you need to bring this by my lab so I can fully repair it.”

Akaashi nodded, slipping the chain over his head again, his shoulders relaxing with the familiar weight back against his chest.

Just like with every time he saw Akaashi and _their_ symbol, Bokuto felt a small whirl of pride in his chest. He reached over, shifting the pendant so it hung perfectly centred, his thumb wiping over it.

“You two are grossly sentimental,” Kuroo drawled from the other side of the table, starting to pack up the leftovers into fewer containers and stacking the empty ones for recycling.

“What’s that, bro? Couldn’t hear you over the sound of your pining.” Bokuto’s arm stretched out over the back of Akaashi’s chair as he pinned Kuroo with an arched brow. His golden eyes never left Kuroo’s face, his carefree smile stretching into a teasing, crooked grin.

Kenma and Sawamura both looked at Kuroo with various forms of amusement and interest as he ducked his head, the tips of his ears burning red.

An alarm shrieked out of the heroes’ pendants before anything more could be said, holographic screens being projected almost instantly in front of their faces. Shimizu’s pinched expression stared out at them, eyes dark with worry.

“ _Any available heroes converge at the coordinates below. At least sixteen unlisted villains infiltrating an R &D lab. Hinata and the Tanaka siblings on scene. I repeat: any available— _”

There was a moment of complete silence until Kenma let out a shaky gasp, his eyes wide. “Shoyou,” he whispered, hands flexing uselessly in the air towards the closest projection.

Akaashi was the first to move, his hand all but smashing against his pendant to release his suit. His chair clattered to the ground as he stood and the sound shocked the other heroes into action.

Bokuto knew there was no talking him out of it. Akaashi, for all of his logic and rationalizing, had always been a man of action, especially when those he cared about were in danger. All he could do was trust that Akaashi would know his own limits with his leg, and so Bokuto followed him out onto the terrace at a dead sprint, his own suit sliding seamlessly into place. It was a well-rehearsed motion, and with ease his arms caught around Akaashi’s torso as the other leapt over the edge, completely trusting that Bokuto wouldn’t let him fall.

They didn’t stop to make sure Kuroo and Sawamura had a way to follow, nor that Kenma would be okay, left alone in the apartment.  They were already mentally preparing for whatever they were to face. Akaashi directed Bokuto, but even without the coordinates, it was obvious where they were going. Above the roofline of the city, they could see the flashes of light that often slipped out of Hinata when he was panicked—an unconscious defence mechanism to try and blind his opponent. Bokuto pushed to fly faster.

The coordinates took them to a lab atop a hill, close to the city limits. One of the ground-level walls had collapsed into a pile of rubble, and the dust had yet to settle. Great swaths of grass had been sliced out of the ground, scorch marks lying in tandem with streaks of ice. By the time Bokuto and Akaashi arrived on scene Oikawa was already atop the building, his voice no doubt filling the present heroes’ minds keeping them updated on villain whereabouts. For all the flair he claimed to have, Oikawa only ever attended scenes in a black tactical outfit. The Tanaka siblings must have been split up before Bokuto and Akaashi’s arrival; Saeko was nowhere to be seen, and a crumbling wall revealed Iwaizumi fighting his way towards an injured Ryuu, the stone spikes lining his arms and fists regrowing as fast as they were broken off against villains. If there were any other heroes, Bokuto couldn’t see them right away.

“Kou!”

Bokuto released his hold on Akaashi, dropping his partner into a cluster of villains that were backing Hinata against the building.

“ _Three more heroes en route. ETA two minutes or less. Four heroes now.”_

Oikawa’s voice felt like a whisper of thought in Bokuto’s mind—not quite present, but also not quite his own.

He trusted his fellow heroes to hold their own, so he did a hairpin turn midair and dove down, crashing on top of a large villain that looked like a mutated gargoyle. The force of the impact knocked the air out of his lungs briefly before he was flying back, the villain already up and charging after him. A flare of heat at his back told him Hinata had managed to calm down enough to concentrate his fire. It came as no surprise to him—Akaashi was the best to have at your back in a crisis.

The villain came roaring down at him, clawed hands raised to strike. Bokuto surged forward, shoulder catching his opponent below the sternum and driving him down into the ground, clumps of earth bouncing off his suit. Before the gargoyle had a chance to catch his bearings, Bokuto swiped a hand over his wrists, white rings clasping and closing tightly. The villain slumped as a teal light began to glow from underneath the cuff, his abilities and mobility locked down.

One down. Who knew how many more to go.

A tensile wrap coiled around his wrist and jerked him back just as a bolt of lightning struck, searing the ground and raising Bokuto’s hair even further. He looked up and saw Sawamura, the hero’s mouth pressed in a tight line of concentration. He waved a hand in acknowledgement, breaking out of the wrap before he was fully pulled to safety and diving right back into the chaos, making his way towards the building. Whatever the villains were doing, it was organized and their goal had to be inside.

“Where did they go?” Bokuto shouted, knowing Oikawa would hear him. A map of the building appeared in his mind, the locations of several moving villains appearing on one of the sublevels, deep within the ground.  

He dropped, sliding underneath the trajectory of a villain as Iwaizumi threw them through a wall. From the look on the hero’s face, Bokuto knew no other villain would get past. His mind was eerily silent as he jumped down the stairwell landings. The further down he went, the darker it became and he stopped when Oikawa finally alerted him that he was on the correct floor.

The darkness was not a hindrance to him; his colleagues often joked he was more owl than man with the way he preferred it. When Kuroo stepped out of the shadows, he nodded to the other with a reckless grin, confident the ball was in their court. After all, Kuroo could make certain no light shone while they picked off villains one-by-one. Like Oikawa, his suit seemed modelled after military-grade tactical wear, though straps lined with capsules crossed over his torso and legs, each capsule containing compounds only he knew the use of, creating most of them himself.

Bokuto motioned once before slipping through the doorway and into a large open room, Kuroo cutting the lights inside as soon as the door cracked open. At the centre of the room was what looked like a giant fish tank, emptied of water but furnished to look like a bedroom. The three villains around the glass room sounded panicked and when they whipped around to face where they thought the door was, Bokuto could see a waifish young boy in hospital robes tucked under a fourth villain’s arm, bound and gagged and staring directly at Bokuto with wide, terrified eyes.

A distant explosion rattled the walls and ceiling, dust raining down on them, and it gave Bokuto enough pause that the shortest of the villains had time to shoot blindly. The projectile that hit Bokuto’s left arm ripped through his suit, burning and freezing at the same time. He choked back any noise of pain, not wanting to give away their location as he and Kuroo made their way across the large room. Even injured and out-numbered, they had the advantage of surprise.

“ _Support on standby_.”

Did they clear the villains on the surface already? Was anybody injured? Akaashi? Bokuto frowned and Kuroo nudged him hard to get him out of his head.

“I can smell you,” one of the villains crooned with sickening confidence, aiming something towards them.

“Down!” Bokuto grabbed onto the back of Kuroo’s suit where the straps crossed and all but threw him out of the way, the plastered wall behind them exploding at the tailend of the same heartbeat as the weapon fired.

Bokuto groaned from where he had evaded, tucked away behind one of the many desks in the room. His ears rang and there was pain down the right side of his body. Akaashi would be upset if he were injured again, so he hoped nothing was as broken as it felt.

He got back up as quickly as the pain would allow, seeing Kuroo already back on his feet. Two of the villains had disappeared in the moment of distraction, including the one with the child, and the two that remained were already advancing on them.

One of the villains slapped her hands together, and a burst of light broke through Kuroo’s shadows, blinding them momentarily. Bokuto hissed but moved on instinct, launching himself over the desk and tackling the villain to the ground. Just like the gargoyle, he slapped nullifying cuffs onto her before dropping to lay on the ground, taking in a rattling breath. From the lack of sounds of struggle, he assumed Kuroo had also managed to detain his villain.

“Bro?”

Kuroo grunted in response somewhere to his right, panting heavily from his own scuffle.

“I fucking hate villains.”

There was a huff of laughter before he felt a slap to his shoulder and he opened his eyes to see Kuroo extending a hand down to him. He took it, hopping back to his feet and grinned, wiping a thumb against his nose.

“We’ll leave them to the clean-up crew. They’re not going anywhere. Come on, big guy. Let’s make sure the others are doing their jobs.”

Bokuto laughed and they took off in a brisk jog back to the stairwell, Kuroo taking the steps three at a time while Bokuto leapt off one of the railings to fly straight up the middle. He reached ground-level first and when he did, he felt his blood run cold.

The ground had broken up around the building, and static filled the air. At the centre of a broken ice dome, Bokuto could see Ryuu and Saeko piling cuffed villains for easy extraction. Iwaizumi and Oikawa were locked in combat with one of the villains that had escaped the basement, the one with the child nowhere in sight. They seemed to have the upper hand and wouldn’t need his help so he turned his attention elsewhere.

A wall of dirt rushed up and he jumped into the air, narrowly avoiding it as it crashed around him like a wave. From behind him he could hear Sawamura and Kuroo curse, and he briefly hoped they didn’t get caught under the weight of it. He turned towards its source and saw Akaashi avoiding a punch thrown by a vaguely familiar villain. It took a moment before he placed the villain to their fight the night before. Hinata was keeping a second villain at bay, alternating between blasts of light and flame, but Bokuto could see the heave to his shoulders. It wouldn’t be long before the new hero tired out.

He could see the dirt swelling behind Akaashi and Hinata, but before he could call out to warn them, the villain swung what looked like a club made of dirt at Akaashi’s injured leg. Akaashi dropped to the ground with a cry of pain as the earth rose and fell, the surface crumbling around them as if onto a cavern. Bokuto’s heart dropped through his stomach with fear and he dove down, down, down, arms outstretched.

His fingers strained, trying to reach Akaashi even as the other reached for him, eyes wide and frantic. Akaashi seemed to be falling faster than he could dive, as if being pulled down by something Bokuto couldn’t see, and the distance between their hands grew. Darkness fell around them as the opening in the earth began to close somewhere above.

Bokuto screamed Akaashi’s name, the sound tearing from his throat only to be cut short by Sawamura catching him midair and pulling him back towards the surface. The earth surged back together, closing around his foot before he could be pulled entirely free, and he threw himself forward, tearing himself free of the wraps to dig at the ground with his bare hands.

His heart seized in panic as nothing of the hole Akaashi fell through remained, his hands scooping piles of compact dirt aside in a frenzy.

A hush had fallen over the laboratory grounds, broken by an inhuman wailing that cut through the heroes to their cores, shaking the defences from their hearts. It wasn’t until he was being pulled away from the piles of dirt and into Kuroo’s arms that Bokuto realized the sound of complete devastation was coming from him.

The support crew that were rounding up the bound villains and assessing damage had stopped, watching as Kuroo and Sawamura gathered a grieving Bokuto between them, all but carrying him into the back of a vehicle that would transport them to main headquarters where their wounds would be tended to.

Later that evening when the news story would run, it would speak of the three villains that got away, a kidnapped child, and the death of one of their city’s finest heroes.

* * *

 

When Bokuto woke up, he patted around himself sleepily. He grumbled when he didn’t immediately feel Akaashi, or any lingering warmth to say he’d just gotten up, and the texture of the blankets beneath his hands became more obvious—soft, but still coarser than the blankets he was used to having on their bed.

“Keiji?” he mumbled in confusion, struggling to open his eyes. They felt scratchy and dry, glued together by a long sleep that hadn’t left him feeling particularly rested. When they were open he took in the sight around him.

Several beds shared a wall with the one he was on, and with medical equipment and bed railings in the way, he could only see that four of the beds were occupied other than his own but not who was in all of them. Dread tightened its fist around his heart and he could feel his panic rising again. Seeing Hinata on the closest bed to him, bandages covering his right eye, and the right side of his body in casts, brought back the sight of Akaashi falling, just out of reach.

He was surrounded by a shrill beeping as he tried to get up, feeling the bile rise in his throat. He had to find Akaashi. Had to save him. He couldn’t be gone. He—

Hands pushed him back down onto his bed and he fought against their hold until he felt something cold spread under his skin, pulling at the back of his eyelids with a sudden and unavoidable fatigue. When his head met the pillow again, his eyes landed on Kuroo and Suga’s faces, both lined with stress. Darkness washed over him again and the sounds of the infirmary disappeared as he was pulled back into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

He sat on the edge of the couch, leaning over the scrapbook of news clippings and shakily drawn pictures. The beer in his hand had long since gone warm and flat, but he hardly paid it any mind.

“Bo? You still up?”

He lifted his head, glancing in the direction of the front door before looking back down.

It had been four months since the night at the laboratory. Four months, to the day, since Akaashi had gone missing. He refused to believe anything else. Akaashi Keiji was made of tougher stuff than _dirt_. He was just waiting for Bokuto to find him. Yeah, that was it. If only Bokuto could concentrate enough to find a lead. He thought maybe Akaashi’s reports held clues; especially if any of the other villains from that night matched up to ones from past skirmishes.

He took a sip of the beer and made a face, sucking his teeth slightly before sighing and setting the bottle down on the table. He rubbed his hands over his face then through his hair in agitation as Kuroo walked into the room, Sarukui behind him.

“C’mon, big guy. You look like shit. Let’s get you in the bath then to bed. You can look at it with fresh eyes in the morning.”

He was too tired to argue. Too tired to put up a fight as he was guided down the hall and to the bathroom. He wasn’t too tired to miss the look his two friends gave each other at the state of the apartment and of him.

While he soaked in the bath he could hear hushed voices filled with concern from the living room. Or maybe the kitchen. Were they cleaning? Bokuto sighed and let himself sink a bit further under the sudsy water.

When he was tucked into bed an hour later, he stared at his ceiling with a numbness weighing his limbs to the mattress. Hours later when sunlight creeped along the edges of the room he finally succumbed to exhaustion, only to be woken up again by the sight of Akaashi falling, forever just out of reach.

* * *

 

Nine months had passed and the laboratory and its surrounding grounds had been restored. On the nights he couldn’t sleep, nobody stops Bokuto from sitting on the sloping lawn where a life-swallowing hole once was.

* * *

 

“Today marks one year.”

He didn’t respond.

“Have you been sleeping?”

The bags under his eyes spoke for themselves.

“Have you been eating?”

That was all he could do even though everything was tasteless and hard to swallow. He had passed out at the gym enough he forced himself now, even if he no longer enjoyed food.

Oikawa sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Bokkun…”

He looked up to the perfectly coiffed man sitting across from him, not a hair out of place on his head, not a thread out of place on his suit. It was common enough knowledge that Oikawa had a tendency to stay awake for days on end, reviewing surveillance footage of villains to try and do proactive work, but if he had been doing so recently it was impossible to tell. That or he had invested in really good concealer. He didn’t look the part of a grieving friend.

“I know things have been difficult since Keiji died—”

“ _Don’t you dare_.”

Oikawa looked taken aback, blinking in surprise at the venom in Bokuto’s voice.

“He’s not dead. He’s _not_. I just— I have to find him.”

“Koutarou…”

“No. Everybody else might have given up on him, but I won’t.”

The door slammed behind Bokuto as he stormed out, his hands clenched to keep them from trembling. Iwaizumi looked up from where he was waiting in the hall, and frowned at whatever he saw in Bokuto’s face. Bokuto waved him off before going out the fire escape, jumping off the railing and turning in the direction of home.

He waited until he was back home, wedged into the corner beside the terrace doors before letting himself cry.

* * *

 

There was a knock on Bokuto’s door before the start of his patrol shift. It had only been three months since he had been allowed back in the skies in any official capacity, but they still kept assigning his routes to other heroes so he would never be on the streets alone. The next day would be the second year anniversary of Akaashi’s disappearance and if Bokuto was being honest, he just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep for thirty-six hours to avoid the rest of the condolence messages that had already started trickling in. Admitting to that, though, would have him off the streets and back in Oikawa’s office to _talk it out_ , so he suited up and waited for the clock to chime.

When he opened the door, he was knocked back a step by a sudden weight throwing itself against his chest. A wild mess of red hair tickled his chin and he found a smile on his face despite himself, wrapping his arms around Hinata to return the hug.

The younger hero hadn’t grown much taller in the past two years, but he had grown in many other ways. He was signed off as a bona fide hero, capable of patrolling on his own (even though he preferred buddying up still). He had learned to control his abilities to the point where he no longer blinded anybody when he panicked, and was able to let out bursts of light on command. He paved his way as a loved and respected hero in the city without any publicist’s help.

He had grown while Bokuto remained frozen in time, caught in the ghost of scrapbook pages and empty sheets.

Hinata squeezed around Bokuto’s middle for a long moment before stepping back and grinning up at the taller man. His hair had grown back to its usual wild mop, though half of his right eyebrow remained bare, spliced in two by a silvery scar that ran from forehead to chin, blinding his eye and making him look like a delinquent far more than he actually was—which was not at all.

“So you’re my babysitter tonight, huh?” Bokuto tried in jest, a hand on Hinata’s head.

“Nah, but if it’s cool with you, you said you’d go patrolling with me someday.” Hinata smiled openly, and Bokuto felt the weight on his heart lift marginally. “And I want to show you this thing I figured out! It goes like _whoosh_ ! And then _blam_!”

Bokuto chuckled watching Hinata try and explain with hand actions. He didn’t have the heart to tell him it just looked like weak jazz hands. “Did you bring your bike?”

“I did!”

“I’ll meet you at street-level, then.”

He waited until Hinata ran back out before letting his shoulders drop. Oikawa had said Hinata carried a lot of guilt over not being able to save Akaashi either. That working with Bokuto would be helpful to his healing, too. Bokuto wanted that—to be there for his old protege—but it was hard. It was a reminder of his failure.

He locked the door then went out to the terrace, enjoying the way the cold air felt against his exposed skin. Pausing on the ledge, he closed his eyes and let the sounds of the city wrap around him like a familiar song—ever-changing, but always the same.

“Ready and waiting!”

He let himself fall forward, eyes open behind his mask and fixed on the ground rushing towards him. Below him, he could see Hinata waving an arm from where he sat astride his motorcycle. Catching himself on the wind, he pulled up enough to land lightly beside the bike. Hinata was watching him with that steady concentration he usually reserved for fights or choosing which meat bun he wanted.

“Anything specific from HQ for us tonight?” Bokuto looked around the street, waving to a pedestrian who was staring with something akin to an excited wonder.

Hinata hummed in thought, looking at the screen built into the forearm of his suit. “From what I remember, we’re supposed to stay west of the conservatory.”

Bokuto nodded and lifted up into the air. Below him, Hinata manoeuvred into traffic and took off. He didn’t know the specifics of the suit, but he knew that Hinata’s helmet visor alerted him to situations happening around him as he drove, so Bokuto merely enjoyed the flight above the city streets, letting Hinata lead.

It was well past midnight when they finally stopped, sitting on the edge of a parking garage roof. The city was still buzzing below them, but nothing major had sprung up in the past several hours so they found a favourable street vendor and made their way up the ten-story building.

“I still think about that night, you know?” Hinata said quietly, breaking the companionable silence.

The food in Bokuto’s mouth turned sour, sitting heavy in his stomach. He choked back the mouthful he had then turned his attention up to the night sky. After a long moment he sighed. “Yeah, me too.” He looked at the half-eaten sandwich in his hands then balled it all up tightly and leaned back, tossing it into a nearby garbage can with ease. “I, uh, I’m sorry I stopped thinking. If I hadn’t—If I’d kept my head you might have…” He trailed off, gesturing to the right side of his face then to Hinata, not making eye contact.

Hinata shrugged. “I was bound to get a sick scar at some point. Maybe a bit of a rookie move for me to get one this bad so early on but it makes me look pretty tough!”

At the light tone in Hinata’s voice, Bokuto looked over. He found himself being amazed, yet again, at the younger man’s growth. “You’re something else, Hinata,” he praised quietly.

“Nah. Just doing what you would have done. What you _have_ been doing. I mean, look at you!” He gestured towards Bokuto. “A year and a half and you’re cleared to work again? When Ukai Sr’s partner died, he never came back, and he was one of the _greats_. You’re amazing!”

“I’m really not.”

Hinata turned that stare on him again, as if he was looking straight through him to his soul.

A soft beep through their earpieces stopped the conversation before it could continue.

“ _Villains converging towards the Main Street subway station. Any heroes available in the area requested_.”

“They’re singing our song.” Bokuto smiled, grateful for the interruption then stood up, wiping his hands on his suit. Kenma could yell at him later if there were crumbs in the fibres.

He pushed off the ledge, catching the wind and heading in the direction of the station. From the sound of Hinata’s bike roaring to life behind him, he knew the hero wouldn’t be too far behind. A cursory glance towards the streets showed Hinata dodging through traffic by the time Bokuto hit the next intersection.

Reaching up, he tapped the earpiece to open the comm path. “Who’s attending?”

“Sawamura and Kuroo.”

“Iwaizumi and Kyoutani.”

“Tanaka and Haiba.”

“Thought I’d never see your mug again, Saeko,” Bokuto said with a grin.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy, birdbrain. Drinks are on you after this.”

He closed the connection, signalling to Hinata to ease back when they were two blocks out. It wasn’t his first night back, or his first night by a long shot, but a feeling of unease settled in the back of his mind. Lights flickered down the street in the opposite direction, and from the form he saw swinging down from the rooftops, he could tell Kuroo and Sawamura were almost on scene.

Landing a block away from the subway entrance, he helped Hinata pull his bike aside and watched as the camouflaging was activated. He glanced over to the shorter hero, arching a brow. “You ever lose this thing?”

“As far as Kenma knows? Never!”

Bokuto snorted slightly at the responding grin then hit his earpiece again. “We’re on scene. Kuroo, Sawamura, we saw you guys. Anyone have eyes on what’s going on?”

“They seem to be waiting. Nobody’s gone underground yet,” Haiba hummed. “We’re stationed at the north side.” She sounded tired.

“Do we know if there’s anything else underneath here?” Sawamura asked.

“Water main.”

“Damn, Kyoutani, nice to hear you not growling for once.”

“Fuck off, Tanaka.”

Bokuto pinched the bridge of his nose. At one point he would have loved to join in on the banter and salt. It used to be one of his favourite things about group missions because it always made Akaashi’s brows pull together in the cutest frown. Now it just gave him a headache and made him want to go in dark.

“Tanaka, deafen. Hinata, blind. Everybody else get your cuffs ready.” Sawamura’s voice was steady, firm, sounding just as done with the back and forth as Bokuto felt. “On my mark.”

Bokuto grabbed Hinata around the middle, lifting him into the air so they would be able to get as many of the villains in one go as possible. From their vantage point he could count maybe ten villains—a more than doable number for their group. Sawamura’s countdown was a paced staccato in his ear and at the ‘Go!’ everybody braced themselves.

From their left, a wall of sound crashed into the villains. Bokuto knew from witnessing first-hand that more than a couple eardrums burst upon impact. From above, a blinding light filled the sky and surrounding area, turning night to day and burning the eyes of those not ready.

Before the light had fully cleared, the heroes rushed the scene from all directions, making quick work of knocking out the villains and slapping pairs of nullifying cuffs on all of them.

The filter on Bokuto’s mask flicked up so he could see properly again as the light faded. “Did that seem too easy to anybody else?”

“It did,” Iwaizumi grunted, dropping one of the villains onto the ground.

“I’ll take it. Patrol’s been a nightmare tonight.” Saeko grinned walking over to Bokuto and pulling him down into her arms, hugging him tightly. “I’m glad to see you out here, Bo. I was worried about you,” she said quietly, the words only for his ears.

He hugged her back, somehow feeling small in her arms despite being a full thirty centimetres taller. “Thanks, Sae.” Despite putting on an abrasive front, Saeko had always been the big sister of their hero group, taking anybody and everybody under her spike-studded wing. Not even Kyoutani was immune to it. He cleared his throat, pulling back to look at the others.

Iwaizumi was standing off to the side, most likely calling in the arrest if his annoyed expression was anything to go by. Oikawa had that effect on people. Sawamura, Kuroo and Haiba were lining up the villains for easy pickup. Bokuto looked around for Hinata and Kyoutani and froze when he saw them staring at the entrance to the underground subway.

Bokuto tapped a silent alert against his earpiece, moving towards Hinata when all hell broke loose, too soon for the other heroes to ready themselves.

Columns of dirt and concrete shot out of the ground, knocking all of the heroes back as a half dozen masked villains swarmed from the subway. The only hero to remain upright at the initial onslaught was Iwaizumi, and he quickly charged forward at the nearest villain.

Bokuto was back on his feet almost as quickly as he had hit the ground, lunging forward to tackle one of the masked figures. A force knocked upwards against his jaw, harder than any punch, and he saw stars as he fell back. He could taste the mouthful of blood and he spit it out as he pushed back to his feet, putting all his weight behind his own punch. The villain moved with him, taking as many punches as they dodged. Cracks formed like spiderwebs on the mask; the only indication that Bokuto’s hits were landing.

He grit his teeth, throwing himself into trying to overpower the villain, but each step was met with its perfect counter, like the villain knew his fighting style inside and out.

From somewhere around him he heard Sawamura call out his cuff, Saeko calling hers out soon after. Two down. Four to go.

The air sizzled and cracked with bolts of lightning crashing around them. Fire roared in his periphery, backdropped by shadows so deep the sun itself wouldn’t be able to pierce them should they stand through the day.

The ground shook, the shapes of surrounding bulletin boards and benches distorting. Grass swayed like the ocean under his feet and Bokuto quickly jumped into the air to avoid being thrown off his feet. Out of reach of the villain he had been trading punches with, he took a cursory glance around. The heroes had been pinned down, scattered across the pavement like fallen dominos with the surrounding features and landscape covering them in great sweeps. The four villains that had yet to be cuffed were nowhere to be seen.

A column of concrete shot out of the sidewalk, forcing Bokuto to evade. When everything settled and the grass no longer moved, he dropped back to his feet facing the remaining villain.

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” he called.

The masked figure nodded slowly and advanced, circling around Bokuto with calculated steps. There was a moment of tension; Bokuto could feel it buzzing under his skin.

Large chunks of sidewalk hurtled towards him. The first caught him off guard, but he quickly had his arms up to block the rest. Even under attack, he watched his opponent, waiting for an opening.

When he saw it, he lunged forward again and drove his fist up into the villain’s torso. The villain gave a wheezing gasp, throwing their mask aside as they dry heaved.

Bokuto’s fists dropped in shock, his feet freezing to the ground.

“ _Update report_ ,” came Oikawa’s voice over the heroes’ earpieces, going unanswered.

Akaashi straightened, wiping a fist across his chin. There was no flicker of recognition or familiarity lighting the steel of his eyes when he dropped back into an offensive stance.  

“You’re alive,” Bokuto whispered, the words falling like an answered prayer from his lips.

Bokuto was given no time to reconcile with his ghosts. Akaashi moved forward, fists falling fast as lightning against Bokuto’s already injured ribs and face. Survival instincts kicked in and Bokuto fended off each attack, blocking each blow but quickly losing ground. In the two years since his disappearance, Akaashi had clearly advanced in fighting.

The ground heaved underneath them once more, knocking Bokuto back. His body ached, and with Akaashi standing over him, he felt himself wanting to give up. To stay down and accept whatever his other half deemed fitting. The memory of sleepy owl stickers and late mornings pushed him forward.

When Akaashi’s boot stepped on Bokuto’s neck, his hands scrambled for purchase.

“Keiji—” His voice came out a hoarse rasp, cracking in duress. He could feel the tears at the corners of his eyes as he struggled for breath.

Akaashi frowned down at him, given pause at the name. The boot pressing down eased back and Bokuto rolled over, gasping deep, lung-filling mouthfuls of air.

The metal railing from a fence flew at Bokuto, too fast for him to evade in his current state and knocked him back.

Bokuto lay collapsed on his side, his vision darkening around the edges as he looked up at Akaashi. Eyes that he had spent so many hours trying to discern their exact colour now looked at him with abject loathing and disgust, pulling a pained noise from his throat.

“Keiji, please,” he groaned, one bloody hand reaching towards the other.

Akaashi crouched down, a hand wrapping around Bokuto’s neck, thumb and forefinger framing his jaw. He used the hold to lift Bokuto’s head from the pavement, looking down at him with an expression similar to one that would be used when observing a repugnant insect.

“How do you know my name?” Akaashi asked in the same steady voice that kept him awake at night. Filled the corners of his home like ghosts. Wrapped around his heart like ice.

Bokuto struggled to keep his eyes open. He could feel his eye swelling shut and he tasted blood. “You— Oh god, Keiji, this— this isn’t you,” he croaked out, voice spilling like loose gravel. The tears finally fell, streaking down his bruised cheeks like trails of fire. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you _so damn much_.”

When Bokuto tried reaching a hand up to grab Akaashi’s wrist it was swatted away. “I don’t know you, _hero_ ,” his ghost hissed. “How do you know my name?”

“This isn’t you. Please, Keiji,” he said, echoes of dark nights spent alone. “Wake up.” A movement out of the corner of his eye bolstered his remaining strength, and he swung an arm.

It connected with the side of Akaashi’s face and the ex-hero dropped, knocked unconscious.

Bokuto closed his eyes briefly, feeling out every ache and pain the engineering of his suit couldn’t protect him from. When the sound of footsteps came to a stop beside him, he cracked them open again to stare up at Oikawa.

“He’s not waking up any time soon, Bokkun. I’ve got him. You did good.” Oikawa reached a hand down, helping Bokuto to his feet, stabilizing him when he swayed dangerously. Oikawa turned his head, calling for one of the medical crew.

“No,” Bokuto sighed. He waved away the worried hands of the surrounding crew, stepping away from Oikawa.

With Akaashi unconscious, the other heroes had been freed from their constraints and he could see them split—Haiba and Kyoutani helping support crew load up the bound villains; Saeko, Hinata, Kuroo, Sawamura and Iwaizumi approaching the three of them. Ignoring their calls of concern, he braced himself and lifted Akaashi in his arms, looking at Oikawa gratefully when the telepath stopped him from swaying again.

He turned, carrying Akaashi towards one of the Villain Transport Vehicles, and climbed into the back with him. With his back turned, he didn’t see Oikawa motion for the heroes not to follow before he joined Bokuto in the back of the VTV.

“You were right,” Oikawa said, voice soft.

Bokuto merely grunted, leaning his head back against the side, Akaashi’s form stretched out on the bench beside him, head in his lap. He could no longer see out of his right eye, the taste of blood churned in his stomach, and he could never remember a time in his lengthy hero career where he hurt so much, but he wasn’t going to let Akaashi out of his sight again. Everyone else be damned.

* * *

 

The fluorescent lighting cast long shadows over Akaashi’s face, making the healing bruises at his temple and along his collar look so much deeper. Bokuto grimaced at the reminder of the fight almost two weeks ago. He hadn’t left the holding facility—had refused to any time someone hinted at him going home.

A glass wall separated him from the cell, the one-way pane being the only thing between him and Akaashi. They wouldn’t tell him what they’d done to Akaashi in the hours between the fight scene extraction and the cell, but by the grim look on Oikawa’s face when he was helped out of the room, Bokuto was certain he wouldn’t be happy to hear the details.

A harrowing routine had started the day after. Like clockwork, every morning at six, the nullifying cuffs around Akaashi’s wrists would pulse a deep teal, and he would be rendered immobile until someone escorted him from the cell. It would be nearly three hours until he was escorted back, marched past Bokuto with no flicker of recognition. Some mornings Oikawa would accompany the escort back and stand beside Bokuto, watching as Akaashi was released into the cell by the guards. Oikawa’s expression never changed from one of grim resignment, nothing close to hope in his eyes.

Akaashi hadn’t moved from where he sat since he had returned to the cell that morning, perched on the edge of the cot with a straight back like he expected to stand up at any moment. His hands were clasped loosely in his lap, although from where he stood Bokuto could see that every now and then Akaashi would fidget with his fingers, a slight crack in this stranger to show the man Bokuto used to know within...somewhere.

With a sigh, Bokuto dropped his forehead to rest against the glass wall, his fists clenched at his sides. When the door behind him slid open, he lifted his head, catching the sight of Kuroo in the reflection in front of him. He didn’t bother greeting his friend, returning his gaze to Akaashi who was now looking almost directly at Bokuto—it was impossible, it looked like an ordinary wall from the inside with no indication it was fake, but Bokuto could hope.

There was a long moment of silence. Long enough that Bokuto thought he might have caught a break and Kuroo decided to leave. Instead of the door opening though, he heard Kuroo’s footsteps drawing up to stand beside him, not bothering to turn his head or acknowledge him.

“They still haven’t found those other villains. Neither Oikawa nor Tendou can figure out what they were up to.”

Bokuto hummed with disinterest, eyes never leaving Akaashi.

“How long are you going to stand here, Bo? It’s been days. You’ll be the first person they call when something changes.” Kuroo’s voice was soft, but it felt deafening in the silence Bokuto had grown accustomed to.

“I want—I _need_ to be here for him,” Bokuto said, his voice hoarse from disuse, heavy with grief.

“What if he never comes to? What if whatever they did can’t be undone?”

“He’s still in there. I know he is.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Bokuto frowned, his brows drawing together in concentration. He held up a hand gesturing for Kuroo to be quiet, and waited. It almost seemed futile until—

“There! See that?” Bokuto jabbed a finger at the wall, pointing at Akaashi, who was once again fidgeting with his fingers. “He’s in there, Kuroo. I’m not giving up on him. He wouldn’t have given up on me if it was me in there instead.”

“But Oikawa—”

“To hell with what Oikawa says!” Bokuto interrupted loudly, his hands clenched into his fists and voice echoing off the barren walls around them. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Kuroo flinch. He exhaled slowly, forcing his hands to relax at his sides. He refused to let this rage consume him. To change him into someone as unrecognizable as the man in the cell. After a long moment his shoulders slumped, the tension that coiled through his body waning. “Keiji wanted us to retire. I ever tell you that?”

There was an sharp intake of breath to his left and then a hand settled on his shoulder, gripping in some show of comfort even though the touch was hesitant at first. “You didn’t.”

He wiped a hand down his face and glanced over to Kuroo. He took in the pinched expression on his friend’s face, the worry and fatigue drawing heavy across his mouth and brow. When he looked back to Akaashi, the other was back to staring through the floor, unseeing, his hands still once more.

“I need to be here for him,” he repeated, voice steady with conviction.

“What if he can’t be saved?”

Bokuto swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, gaze steady on his other half.

“I have to try.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> ...That happened. This _will_ be made into a series so this isn't the last you'll see of our heroes.  
> Have any guesses as to what'll happen next? Got any suggestions or hc's you'd like to see for the other heroes?  
> Let me know what you thought below or on my [tumblr](https://yikescaninot.tumblr.com/ask/)! ヽ(•̀ω•́ )ゝ✧


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